Philippa Fisher and the Dream-Maker's Daughter

  I put an arm around her and held her as tightly as I could. We sat there in silence, while Robyn sobbed and sobbed and I held her, wishing there was something I could do to stop her from being sad, but remembering the story about the butterfly getting out of its chrysalis. The struggle will make her strong, I reminded myself. I couldn’t try to take it away from her.

  The rain was pouring down on us now, lashing against our faces, howling around us. The wind lifted leaves into cyclones, spun them around, hurling them in between the trees. Where had this come from?

  I wiped my face, which was wet and cold from the bitter wind — and then I saw them. Two figures coming toward us. The taller one holding the other one’s hand. The smaller of the two was limping a little, walking slowly, her bright blond hair whipping around her head as she walked.

  “Daisy!” I yelled. Jumping up, I pulled Robyn with me. “Robyn, they’re here! Look — Daisy’s out of bed. She’s here!”

  Robyn looked up. Wiping her face, she stood up. She grabbed my hand. “I’m so glad, Philippa,” she said with a weak smile. I knew it was all she could manage right now, and it meant a lot.

  A moment later, Daisy and I had fallen into a huge hug. “Are you OK now?” I asked her as Annie went over and wrapped Robyn into her arms. “Are you better?”

  “She’s not a hundred percent yet, are you?” Annie said, looking over Robyn’s head at Daisy. “Another day or two to recover, and then it’s back to work!”

  “Slave driver!” Daisy said with a smile.

  “Back to Triple D?” I asked.

  Annie shook her head. “Daisy’s wing was slightly damaged in the tussle with Martin. It’ll be absolutely fine in time, but we decided it was best to transfer her to a different department. ATC is coming today to discuss it further. She’ll get the highest possible recommendation from me, though.”

  I smiled at Daisy. She grinned back. “Annie’ll make sure I get something good,” she said.

  “So, what are we doing here?” I asked.

  “You’ll see,” Annie replied. She reached down to wipe the tears from Robyn’s cheeks, then pulled her close again as Robyn continued to sob. The four of us stood close together below the branches of the dead oak tree, huddled against the rain.

  “It’s going to get worse,” Annie said after a while. She had to raise her voice so we could hear her over the rain. I didn’t know if she meant the weather or Robyn’s grief, but as if to highlight her words, the wind whipped up even more fiercely and thunder grumbled in the distance.

  Annie sheltered Robyn in the crook of her arm as Robyn cried and cried.

  The storm was coming closer and closer. “Will we be all right?” I asked as a flash of lightning tore across the sky. “Is it safe to be out here in this?” I still didn’t understand why we were here at all.

  Annie looked up at the sky. “Any minute now,” she said mysteriously. “Just wait a few —”

  A growl of thunder broke into the rest of her sentence. Instantly, behind it, a streak of lightning split the sky. And then another, and another. And then —

  Just like a giant spear hurtling toward us from the sky, the lightning struck the tree. Right in its center.

  “Look out!” Annie called. She pulled Robyn away from the tree. Daisy and I were right behind them. We ran together toward a nearby tree. Its semi-bare branches weren’t much shelter, but it was better than nothing.

  From a few yards away, we watched in total silence as the oak tree creaked and cracked and moaned. Then it fell, and split in two.

  Branches that had been reaching up into the sky only moments earlier bent and fell backward, stretching outward and falling to the ground. It was as though the tree were opening up its hands, opening up its whole self.

  And then the strangest thing happened. From inside the tree, colors and lights burst out. They spun and unfurled from the very being of the tree, whirling around like smoke rising from a fire. More and more — blue, pink, gold, orange, green, jade, and silver — every color you could think of, flowing out, flowing and pouring out of the tree like lava running free and wild.

  “What’s happening?” Robyn asked. Her voice shook — but not with fear or with sadness. With something else. It was laughter. She was laughing. Soon I realized I was, too. We fell together into the colors, lapping them up like they were a million dollar bills fluttering around us. We danced and reached out for the colors, trying to catch them, to touch them. “What is it? What’s happening?” Robyn asked again.

  Annie went over to the tree. Walking right into the center of the dancing lights and waving the colors out of the way, she reached into the tree and pulled something out. A tiny parcel.

  “This is for you,” she said to Robyn.

  “What is it?” Robyn’s eyes were wide and shining.

  “It’s full of dreams. The happiest dreams you could imagine. All of your life, your mother saved them.”

  “For me?” Robyn asked.

  “Every last one. Your mother wanted you to have them so much.”

  “Why now?” I asked.

  Annie turned to me. “Any dreams a Dream Maker creates can only exist undelivered for a year after her death. After today, it would be impossible for you to have them.”

  “Why did you wait, then?” Robyn asked.

  Annie took one of Robyn’s hands. “Gifts like this from the fairy-godmother world have laws attached to them. You can only receive such dreams of happiness if you have first opened your heart to the sorrow inside it. The sadness opens a space inside you — and the dreams can only enter if that space is open, if your heart is ready to receive them.”

  Robyn swallowed hard.

  “That was why I sent you those dreams,” Annie went on. “So you would be ready to receive this gift.”

  “What would have happened to them if she hadn’t been ready in time?” I asked.

  “They would never have been delivered,” Annie replied. “Instead, they would have been released as pure energy with nowhere to go. And that would have been extremely dangerous.”

  “Why?” Robyn and I asked in unison.

  “Such energy cannot exist in the human world. Without an open heart to enter, dreams like these turn to fire. Released here and now, they would have torn through the forest. The destruction they could have caused is unthinkable.”

  I shuddered.

  “But you don’t need to worry about that now. The process has begun. You have opened your heart.” Annie held the parcel out to Robyn. “Take them,” she said. “They’re yours.”

  Robyn took the parcel and held it in her hands as delicately as if it were an injured bird.

  “Inside this parcel is the most powerful dream dust you will ever find,” Annie said. “Each single speck of dust holds a dream created especially for you, to use whenever you need it. Every one chosen with care, and with love. Think of it as a savings account that your mother created for you — fairy style!”

  The parcel was wrapped in the most delicate silk wrapper. A butterfly’s wing!

  “But how . . . ?” Robyn’s voice trailed away as Annie turned around.

  “Thanks to my accident, we discovered the power of a butterfly’s wing,” she said. “We found a way to keep them safe.” Opening up her coat, she revealed her shoulder blade — not the one she’d shown us yesterday, the other one. She had a matching scar running all the way down it — where her wing should have been.

  There’s more than one way to show gratitude, Annie had said. Now I understood what she’d meant. She’d cut off her one remaining wing so that Robyn’s mom could ensure Robyn would have this amazing gift!

  “What use is a butterfly with one wing?” she said simply.

  “I don’t know what to say,” Robyn gulped. The tears on her cheek were drying now. The rain had slowed down, too.

  “Just keep the parcel somewhere safe,” Annie said.

  “I’m going to make a necklace out of it,” Robyn said. “Then I can have my mom close to me all
the time. It will always remind me of her, and of you and the sacrifice you made for me.” She rushed into Annie’s arms, holding tightly on to her while Daisy and I stood and watched.

  “Wait a minute.” Annie pulled away from Robyn. She was looking beyond her at something. We turned to see what she was looking at. There was someone in the distance coming toward us. Robyn’s dad! His face looked fierce as he strode toward us.

  “Robyn!” he called. “Annie!”

  No! After everything we’d been through — he couldn’t drag Robyn away again. Not now!

  Mr. Fairweather caught up with us and stood in front of Annie. Now what? Would they have a full-scale argument out here in the woods? Would he drag Robyn off again and forbid her from ever seeing any of us?

  “Martin, please let’s not do this,” Annie said. “We said everything that needed to be said yesterday.”

  Mr. Fairweather looked at Robyn, then back at Annie, then at the rest of us. “No, we didn’t,” he said.

  “Dad, please.” Robyn reached out for her dad’s hand, but he pulled it away.

  “I need to say this now,” he said. “Don’t stop me, or I may never manage it again.”

  Then he looked Annie in the eye. He just stood there in silence for what felt like ages. Then in a voice so quiet we wouldn’t have heard it if a twig had snapped at the same time, he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “Martin, I —”

  He held up a hand to stop her. “I was wrong. I was terribly, terribly wrong. I did so many bad things in the last year. I can hardly remember what I’ve done. It’s as though it was someone else. Someone else who came in and took over while I was lost. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  And then he started to cry. Silently at first, his shoulders hunched and shaking. Tears snaked down his cheeks. Soon he was moaning and holding himself as though in the most terrible distress you could imagine.

  “Dad.” Robyn ran into his arms, and this time he didn’t stop her. He held her close, as though she was all that could keep him upright, as though he would fall beyond reach if he let her go.

  Eventually, he loosened his grip and wiped the back of his palm across his eyes. He looked back at Annie. “I treated you badly. I’m truly sorry. Will you forgive me?”

  Annie reached out and softly touched his arm. “Martin, I can forgive you easily enough. But the important thing is that you forgive yourself — and learn to live again. You know she would have wanted you to.”

  He nodded, and the lump in his neck bobbed up and down.

  We stood in silence a few moments longer. The colors continued to spill from the tree, dancing in and out of the forest, flowing gently in long, rhythmic sweeps, gradually slowing down, coming to rest in a circle around the five of us.

  Finally, the colors began to fade away, seeping into the grass. Raindrops tinkled from branches as the sun poked out from behind a cloud. A faint glow of sunlight opened up, peering shyly through the trees.

  “Look!” Robyn pointed above us. A perfect arc was emerging. A rainbow, arching over the whole forest, as though holding us all together, keeping us safe.

  Annie turned to Daisy. “It’s FGRainbow2359 — the assignment is over.”

  “What does that mean?” I asked, knowing in the back of my mind what she was about to say — and praying I was wrong.

  “It’s Daisy’s new supervisor,” Annie said. “It means she has to go.”

  “But I don’t want her to!” I said. I sounded like a baby — but I didn’t care. Why did she have to leave?

  Daisy swallowed. “I don’t want to go, either,” she said sadly. She came over to me, and I hugged her tight.

  “She’ll be fine,” Annie said. “Really. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “She really has to go?” I asked.

  Annie nodded. “I’m sorry,” she said, holding out a hand for Daisy.

  Daisy gave me one more squeeze, then she went over to Robyn. “Look after Philippa, won’t you?” she said. “Don’t forget about her. I know she’ll be going home again soon, but don’t desert her like Charlotte did, or forget about her. She’s really special.”

  Robyn nodded. “I know she is,” she said. Then she smiled at Daisy. “And so are you. I can understand why she’d want you as her best friend.”

  Daisy blushed. “Well, I guess I’ve learned that having best friends isn’t just about keeping them to yourself,” she said. “It’s about learning to share.”

  Robyn reached out to give Daisy a hug. “Thank you for everything,” she said. “And don’t worry,” she added, smiling at me. “I’m not planning on deserting Philippa. We’ll make sure we keep in touch — I promise.”

  “Come on, now,” Annie said. “It’s time.”

  “Annie,” I said, my throat clogged up and burning.

  Annie turned. “What is it?”

  “Will I ever see Daisy again?”

  Annie smiled. “I can’t give you any answers for certain,” she said. “But I can tell you this: when someone saves a fairy’s wings, the favor is never forgotten.”

  And with that, she and Daisy walked toward the rainbow. Robyn and her dad stood together, their arms tightly around each other. I stood beside them as we watched Annie and Daisy walk away from us.

  The sun shone so brightly through the rainbow I had to shield my eyes. When I opened them again, Daisy had disappeared.

  Robyn and her dad were on either side of me. “I can’t bear it,” I said as they held on to me. It felt as though all the sunshine had gone out of my life, as though it would never come back.

  And then I remembered Robyn saying exactly the same thing, earlier — that she couldn’t bear it. That was when I realized I could bear it. Of course I could. It was just a good-bye. It was just a step along a journey, not the end of it. It was a parting, not an ending.

  “You’ll find a way,” Mr. Fairweather said. “You’ll be OK.”

  “I guess,” I said.

  “Come on,” he said. “Let’s close the shop for the afternoon and get your parents. I’ll take you all out for some coffee.”

  Robyn looked at her dad as though he’d suggested we go and climb Mount Everest.

  “I have to start living again,” he said. “Annie’s right. Your mother would never have wanted me to hide away in the shop, half-dead myself. It’s going to be different from now on.”

  Then we turned and started walking back to the village. Mr. Fairweather walked ahead, while Robyn and I walked arm in arm, dodging puddles all the way along the path.

  We came to a huge puddle right ahead of us. It ran all the way across the path, like a river, running from one side to the next.

  If there’s a river ahead of you, you can’t get to the other side by pretending it’s not there. You have to cross it. It’s the only way.

  I looked at Robyn. She smiled back at me. And then, without a thought for how cold or wet our feet were getting, we linked arms and sploshed our way through the puddle, all the way to the other side.

  “I think you’ll see her again soon,” Robyn said, her boots squelching with every step.

  I turned to watch the last bit of the rainbow as it began to fade, saw the light and the colors and the sunshine and the forest — all of them for what they were. The magic and beauty of everything.

  Smiling, drenched, and cold, I turned to my new friend. “Do you know what?” I said. “I think so, too.”

  And with that, I looked back up at the sky one more time. As I watched, the rainbow glowed a moment longer, then threw one last hint of light through a break in the clouds — and was gone.

  Once again, I can’t claim to have written this book all by myself. Many usual suspects and a few new ones have helped along the way. Special thanks to:

  Nancy Green for the elder tree;

  Karen McCarthy for the fairies in the woods;

  Mom, Dad, Caroline, Lee, and Min for those all-important final tweaks;

  And Mary Hoffman, for her generous support and tortoisey encouragement.


  And with extra, extra special thanks to the following:

  Linda Chapman, for being utterly in tune with me, the story, and the characters;

  Judith Elliott, for being the most fantastic editor, for making me chop out the deadwood, and for helping me join the dots;

  Catherine Clarke, for always being there with advice, support, ideas, encouragement, time, effort, and friendship;

  And Laura Tonge, for talking about fairies all year, whether over dinner when I had to make notes on a serviette, at seven o’clock on a rainy morning when I’d run out of ideas, or about a hundred times in between.

  The fate of both the fairy world and the human world lies with Philippa Fisher.

  An excerpt from Philippa Fisher and the Fairy’s Promise

  “Are we almost there?” I asked for the twenty-fifth time.

  Dad gave me the same response he’d given me twenty-four times already. “Almost!” he said, smiling at me in the rearview mirror and giving Mom a nudge in case she hadn’t noticed his funny reply.

  I sighed and got back to reading my book.

  But then I noticed something outside the window. “Wait!” I sat up a bit straighter. “I recognize this road.” I leaned forward and looked through the front windshield. “It’s the woods!” I said. “We are almost there!”

  “I told you we were,” Dad replied.

  “To be fair, you also said we were almost there when we hadn’t quite reached the end of our street,” Mom added.

  But we were this time. We were on the outskirts of Ravenleigh. I felt a jiggle of excitement go through me. We were nearly at Robyn’s house!

  Robyn and I sat in her room above the bookstore her dad owns and caught up on all our news.

  I couldn’t help comparing it with what had happened when I’d gone to visit Charlotte the first time after she’d moved away. We’d spent a week not knowing what to say to each other. With Robyn, you couldn’t shut us up if you tried! I don’t know how we still had so much to talk about — but we did, and I wasn’t complaining.